


Heat in the Cold

by OwlEspresso



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rough Sex, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlEspresso/pseuds/OwlEspresso
Summary: The strange equilibrium of your relationship with Zenos is promptly challenged when you go into heat during a hunt.
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Reader, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 117





	Heat in the Cold

The dry cold burns the back of your throat with each deep inhale, the muscles of your legs worn. The long trek through the Coerthas Western Highlands was always a brutal one. Long stretches of snow and ice seemed to blanket all the eye could see, reaching far into the horizon. Bleak. Hopeless. It makes you feel all the worse for wear, stuck in the frozen nowhere whilst tracking your target. The kaiser behemoth made no secret of its presence, but that didn’t make following it any easier… for you.

Your companion looks no worse for wear. His massive, hulking form plows effortlessly through the packed snow. Each strong gale of wind sweeps his long, golden locks away from his face, exposing the sharp cut of his jaw. You wonder how he manages to keep himself put together when you feel a mess. You can feel a fatigue tugging heavy at your limbs, an uncomfortable warmth settling over your body despite the cold that pries its way in no matter how many layers you pile on.

“Are you having trouble keeping up?” He notices you fall behind, because of course he does. You scoff, the long ears perched stoop your head twitching with your indignation.

“Of course I am! You’re way bigger than I am,” you point out. The difference in your strides means he surely can’t expect you to match his pace all the time. As if considering that fact, he steals a glance to your lower half.

“You’ve risen above more daunting challenges,” he retorts without an ounce of sympathy, and you try not to bristle in frustration. “Come along. The winds are picking up. A blizzard will be upon us within the next half bell.”

“There’s a cabin where we can take shelter not far from here,” you inform him, jogging to close the gap. You toss up snow in your wake, desperately hoping the slush water won’t soak through your boots. “You might want to get into the thick of it as soon as possible, but patience is a virtue.”

“I am well aware of that fact,” Zenos huffs, though you get the sense he’s amused rather than insulted, “I have spent hours upon days tailing my prey. Rushing the climax of the hunt is far less satisfying than pacing oneself, allowing for the creation and build up of the suspense. The beast won’t gain much ground whilst the weather is so volatile. If anything, it will likely dig itself a den.”

“So we can afford to wait,” you finish for him, feeling a brief sense of relief. Perhaps a spot of rest is just what you need. He hasn’t yet caught onto your fatigue, but you can only imagine the shaming he might put you through if he does. 

“I suppose,” he acquiesces, sparing you a second, longer look. You resist the urge to fidget in place, pointedly staring ahead whilst hoping he doesn’t notice the obvious cracks in your perfectly fine facade. “Lead me to this cabin.”

“Yes, your highness,” you scoff at his authoritative tone and pointedly plow ahead. The crags and mountains that flank you on either side soon open up to a wide open field. The white stretches out onto the horizon, meeting another set of jagged peaks in the far distance. A coldly picturesque sight. You’ve never mentioned Coerthas’s wintry beauty to any of the Ishgardians before, knowing they still pine for greenery and springtime, but there’s no disputing that the malms and malms of crisp white terrain holds a strange, unearthly beauty. 

You’re able to march ahead of Zenos purely because he allows you to. His gaze sticks to the back of your skull every now and then, boring into you for reasons you cannot quite grasp. It’s difficult not to feel like a laboratory specimen under strict scrutiny, like he’s not trying to wrestle the secrets of your existence with his piercing, yet somehow languid looks. You don’t bring it up. The conversation that would ensue would be more uncomfortable than the staring.

Besides, the cabin has already appeared on the distance, the same as you had last seen it. Perhaps it is not the most ideal place to take shelter in a blizzard, but there aren’t any other options this far out. It should have a fireplace, at the very least. 

It takes another five minutes of walking before the speck on the horizon becomes a fully-fledged structure… and then a cabin in its entirety. The door is unlocked, mostly because no one dares venture this deep into the highlands anymore.

“Novel, but it will do,” Zenos appraises as you shove the door open. He ducks inside behind you, sweeping his gaze over the dark, dusty living room.

“It’s a shame that it’s just been left out here to rot,” you say, listening to the thunk of the thick door shutting behind you. Zenos hums in acknowledgement, not necessarily agreement, his greaves thudding firmly against the wooden floor. 

“No one would be foolish enough to make their home somewhere so desolate,” he remarks, but you barely hear him before you’re stumbling towards the couch, plopping atop the aged cushions with a soft sigh, shutting your eyes. Your feet ache with the strain of the long walk, and the strange fatigue that’s been nagging you blooms into something different… Something warmer. Something heated. It blooms in between your legs with frightening speed, cunt beginning to grow wet. 

Your mind lags, the sudden realization of what’s actually happening causing the cogs to grind to a screeching halt. Your heat. Your heat. How could you have been so stupid? How come you didn’t realize?

Zenos is talking, but you don’t hear what he says, gaze mindlessly focused on the dusty coffee table. What are you going to do? Hole yourself up in one of the few rooms available and wait it out? How is Zenos going to react? If you isolate yourself so thoroughly, of course he’s going to have questions. What are you going to tell him? Your pulse spikes, heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you debate your next course of action.

The sound of your name, said firmly in that velvet voice, snaps you from your panic-induced storm of thought. 

“What about this coffee table has occupied your attention so thoroughly?” He tilts his head to the side, half-mocking, half genuinely curious. 

“Just…y’know, the grain of the wood,” you cough, glancing pointedly away from him. He’s shrugged off his coat and taken off what little armor he usually wears these days. By the time he sits in one of the arm chairs, he’s clad in only a silken, white shirt and black pants. His long fingers nimbly work through the mechanisms and clasps on his greaves, beginning to slide them off. Distantly, hungrily, you wonder how they would feel inside of you—how they might caress your walls and draw you to sweet completion whilst you writhe and struggle against the—

“You’re lying,” he very pointedly corrects you. The amusement in his voice flattens out, and you can feel your options slipping through your fingers. Why are you so bashful about this, all of the sudden? Zenos has been at your side for long enough, insistently tagging along on your hunts whether you like it or not. He’d merely brushed it off as wanting to observe your technique up close, and not on the receiving end for once, but you eventually figured he just enjoyed your company. 

Enjoyed it perhaps a tad too much. You could recall in vivid detail the fervent, nearly worshipful speeches he made to you in Doma and Ala Mhigo. Even then, when you were both firmly on opposite sides, he was thoroughly enchanted. 

He leans his massive frame forward, an elbow perched upon his knee, his cheek resting atop his palm. The expression he fixes you with is one of languid interest, eyelids dipped low, gaze sliding up and down your form as though your coveted secret can be found folded somewhere in your clothes.

“Why?” he asks, foregoing flowery prose or intense, firm questioning. 

The ache between your thighs is growing fiercer. You’re not sure how much time you’ll have in a coherent state of mind, so it would be best to explain to him now while you can still muster the intellect for it. Gathering yourself, you slump further into the cushions, shutting your eyes. 

“How much do you know about the viera?” you ask.

“A people commonly found in Southern Othard. They live in closed off populations in the Golmore Jungle—” he explains, voice monotonous and droning. He resumes the process of slipping out of his greaves, boredly droning through the explanation. It sounds like something ripped from a textbook.

“No, no, not like that.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, struggling to grasp your already scrambled thoughts. Your instincts writhe underneath your pliant flesh, fervently demanding release. Your clothes are too tight, too heavy. “Viera… we go through something a few times a year called a heat.”

“I am aware,” Zenos informs coolly. He’s worked one of his greaves off by now, allowing it to rest against the side of the arm chair. He’s in the middle of removing the other when he continues to speak, not allowing it to disrupt his task. “And you are experiencing yours right now?” He says it clinically, stiffly, as though waiting to hear your answer before making his true feelings known.

“...Yes,” you swallow your pride and admit it. Your hands curl into fists atop your lap, watching him deposit his remaining greave next to the first.

“And you’ll require help from me?” He tilts his head to the side, and you gape at him. “Surely you aren’t going to hole yourself up and suffer in solitude whilst there’s someone perfectly adequate and prepared to help you in your midst.” He tilts his head to the side, the corners of his lips pulling into a sultry smile. “Do you think I cannot satisfy you? Or are you nervous?” 

It’s the latter, of course, but admitting it will only give him more room to taunt you.

“Neither! I just wanted to let you know. I wasn’t even going to ask you to help me out,”

“And why ever not? Is the Warrior of Light, after all we have seen and done together, too shy to ask for assistance from a willing companion?” He arches a thick, blond eyebrow at you. Even his puzzlement is utterly languid. It’s strange, to try and answer that question, because he has a point. You’ve not openly confessed yet, but the closeness in which you operate definitely doesn’t belong between two individuals who are merely friends. You exchange longing glances, don’t question when the massive flat of his palm settles on the small of your back, enjoy the sound of his voice and admittedly feel safe in his presence.

Safe. In the arms of your former enemy. 

Yet, it’s growing more and more difficult to fully understand the intricacies of your relationship whilst the warm, gooey surge of your heat still nestled deep in your lower abdomen. Your breathing quickens, cheeks flush with newfound warmth.

“It just didn’t seem appropriate,” you manage to grit out. It’s beyond difficult to sort through your thoughts and voice them eloquently with the heat that blankets your consciousness. Even from across the room, you can smell him. Sandalwood and gunpowder, blood and the tang of steel. You want him, you realize with a start. You want him and you’re having trouble thinking up reasons why you shouldn’t let him fuck you senseless. 

Because he’s so big, after all. He could curl around you entirely, press his hand in between your shoulder blades and force you to the mattress whilst he pounds you from behind. 

“Our relationship is the furthest thing away from ‘appropriate’ in the eyes of both the general populace and your precious allies,” Zenos interrupts, gripping the arms of his chair and heaving himself onto his feet. He’s massive, a towering beast of a man. He crosses the room in a few strides, much too nimble for someone of his size. The floorboards creak underneath his weight.

All noise came to an abrupt halt when he reached you, stood in front of the couch. Even his proximity was delicious, another ravaging wave of heat rolling down your body as you fought the urge to leap up and latch into his body, dig your claws in just to feel the flex of the firm muscle.

“This partnership has crossed countless lines already. An intimate encounter would simply be another offense atop the pile.” As he speaks, he extends a hand, the large flat of his palm upturned. 

You swallow. Reach out to take it.

With a deft speed that surprises even you, he grasps you and pulls you into his arms. The dark room flies by in a blur of dulled color, turning and twisting as he seamlessly lifts you into a bridal carry. The effortlessness of it sends another warm shock straight to your wetted cunt. A shiver rolls down your spine, the firm press of his body against your side a reminder of the packed, rippling muscle that rests just beneath his shirt. 

“Zenos!” you squawk, at least pretending to be offended.

“You were ambling around like a newborn fawn when we first arrived,” he informs you crisply. “It seems your heat has robbed you of nearly all your grace. I’ll not have you stumbling into walls and furniture whilst we attempt to find a bedroom.”

You don’t know how he manages to find a bedroom so quickly, but you’re hardly keeping track of your surroundings. The next thing you concretely realize is that you have been tossed onto a creaking mattress, the light impact making you give a little “oof”, more out of surprise than anything else. 

He swallows your vision. The hulking form of him hiding you from the rest of the room, caging you against the blankets. Your breath halts and squeezes in your lungs, fear and arousal mixing into a heady cocktail. Even in the dark of the room, you can make out the expression of pure voraciousness that mars his expression. His pupils have dilated, rendering the blue of his eyes a thin ring around the expanse of inky black.

You shut your eyes. The plush of his lips presses to yours. 

It begins surprisingly chaste. A slow and gentle osculation that makes your tightly wound muscles begin to relax. You ease back against the blankets, feeling the slow encompassing heat trail from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, curling over you in waves. You don’t even realize you’ve opened your mouth for him until he pushes inside, tongue nestling against your own, tasting every ilm he can reach.

Your fingers find those flaxen strands of and twine mindlessly into them, admiring the smoothness, the silken texture. It somehow manages to ground you between all the haze, but there’s next to nothing that can be done to cling onto your coherency when his fingers find the fastens of your blouse. 

He undoes the buttons with a superior deftness, long digits flying down the expanse of your torso—the next thing you know, he’s tugged it off. Your bra follows suit, or it would have, had you not paused to bat his hands away.

“I can do it,” you say, and it comes out more like a gasp than a confident assertion. “Focus on yourself.”

“Need I remind you this is your problem that needs fixing. You could stand to be more courteous to the person so kindly assisting you.” His voice is dry, but he complies regardless, grasping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He goes through his layers whilst you undo your bra strap with trembling fingers, dropping it off the side of the bed. It hasn’t quite hit you that you’re about to bed Zenos Yae Galvus, heir to the Garlean throne proper and enemy of multiple nations. 

What would the Scions think if they saw you nestled in the arms of the enemy?

Another fresh wave of heat sweeps you back underneath the oppressive tides of your own lust. You let it pull you down, sweat coating your palms as you desperately wriggle out of your trousers and panties, boots kicked off as he returns to the bed.

The incredible expanse of his torso is caked in trained muscle, a sight that makes your mouth water. Your gaze drifts downwards, following the lines of his hips to reach the thick, long cock that rests proudly in between his thighs. You’ve glimpsed it before through his trousers, a firm outline that appeared whenever the two of you sparred or coincidentally pressed close together. But seeing it in its entirety nearly sobers you from the agonizing scorch of your heat.

And then his long fingers press to your slicked cunt. That single touch wrenches a sputtering breath from you, your hips rolling instinctually into his hands.

“Fuck,” you gasp quietly. Your eyes flutter shut. Your teeth press to your bottom lip as you roll in time with each glide of his fingers along your folds. His thumb teases your clit, fingertips teasing your sopping entrance until you’re squealing. “Zenos, please—”

“Already so wet,” he sighs, voice sanguine and airy. His fingers pull away from you, causing your eyes to fly open. You cant your hips higher and let out a needy whine, tears beginning to brim at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. It’s impossible to make out anything besides the hulking form of him, his blue eyes hooded as he admires you. “Hush. You can surely wait a simple few moments until you get your prize… or has your heat robbed you of the virtue of patience?” His hands find their place on either side of your body, palms warm against your bared skin before he abruptly flips you onto your stomach.

“You’ll get your share of seed all in due time,” A strong arm curls underneath your hips and effortlessly lifts you. The world shakes and spins on its access as you struggle to regain your grasp on reality. “I would not leave you unsatisfied.” I would Eventually, you give up and press your face to the blankets. Your fingers curl into the thick fabric, grip tightening as the thick head of his cock nestles against your soaked folds.

You hold your breath, shoulders going still as it slowly slides in. He’s huge, larger than anyone else you’ve taken before. It hurts. The kind of slow ache that mixes with the pleasure, rubs your nerves raw until you’re unsure whether you want to shove closer or scramble away. He makes the decision for you, hands gripping your waist to keep you still.

“What a lovely creature my beast is when tamed,” he purrs, lips pressing to the side of your head. The soft, tender kisses he gives are a sharp juxtaposition to the vice grip he maintains on your body. “Had I known you would be so docile in the throes of passion, perhaps I would have bred you sooner.”

He punctuates that remark by pushing his hips forwards. It’s a rough, single moment that causes him to hilt near instantly, wrenching a pained gasp from your soft lips. He pries you open like an unfeeling beast, like a wolf to a deer, his teeth sunk into the toned flesh of your shoulder.

“Beautiful. You take me so well,” he praises, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. The lone mercy he gives you is time to adjust to his ridiculous size. The ache and burn gradually fades into vague pleasure, your fried nerves trembling with anticipation as you clench your walls around him, urging him to move. 

“Move,” you gasp, torso sliding down the sheets as he drags you ever closer, his toned abdomen pressing you against the mattress. There isn’t an ilm of space between you for a long, few moments, until he at last pulls his hips back and slides them forward. You make a garbled, wordless sound, fingers clawing at the sheets. The pace he sets is deep, punishing yet thorough. His girth hits every special little spot, sends you moaning and crying and whining into blissful oblivion. 

Your eyes shut, your head rolls to the side. The impact of his pelvis against your ass creates an obscene smack every time he bottoms out. The bestial core of you purrs in pleasure, knowing it will be well bred.

“What a sight you are,” he sighs into your hair. The languid purr of his voice is lower, darker and more broken. You can’t bring yourself to respond, not while your body milks him with such ardor, not while your hips begin to spasm as the calloused pads of his fingers gently tease your clit. The evidence of your orgasm gushes out of you as your body writhes in his grasp. It stains the sheets, covers his cock, makes the glide in and out even more seamless. 

He fucks you through it and seamlessly pushes you into the bittersweet realm of overstimulation. All at once, you want to plead for him to stop, to continue, but all that comes out is another series of breathless little “ah, ah, ah’s” and indecipherable moans. Your body aimlessly squirms as it struggles to decipher what it wants. There is nearly a striking moment of clarity where you try to piece together what exactly you want, but that’s shoved under the rug by your instincts clambering for another release.

Your warm walls pulsate and flutter around him, asd though attempting to beckon him deeper.

“Zenos—” you finally gasp, throat raw, “Please.” His hips do not still, but the strokes he rocks into you with become faster. His desperation can be felt through each violent thrust, a desperation to cum, to mark, to bury his seed so deep within you that you’ll carry something of his forever. 

You babble his name into the darkness, your calls bouncing off the walls of the otherwise empty house.

You don’t know how long you stay there underneath him, crying out with each vicious press of his cock. His calloused digits mercilessly tease your sopping cunt, growing drenched with your slick.

The world goes dizzy a second time as your orgasm wracks you, a pitiful cry rattling from your exhausted lungs. Fatigue begins to sap at your limbs, your body left to do nothing but take his hot seed as he finally spills inside of you. He paints your walls and fills you entirely, cum leaking out around his cock and dripping onto the sheets.

The grip he has on your left hip finally releases, allowing you to collapse completely. Drained and well-fucked, you rest limply, channeling all your effort into simply breathing. 

The mixed evidence of your coupling slides sticky onto the sheets as he pulls out. The sudden, empty chill makes you whine in protest, fingers twitching atop the mattress. The feral creature inside of you longs for his weight atop of you, but you lack the strength to even lift your head and ask.

“You did remarkably well,” Zenos praises loftily, distantly. A large, warm palm rolls down your back, caressing your twitching muscles. The shocks of your orgasm fade slowly into the afterglow, but the molten buzz of your heat still lingers underneath your skin. Later, you promise yourself, when your body has recovered, when your aches have healed. As you are, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to keep up on the hunt… though you think you know how to make it up to him. 

Your face presses to the sheets, consciousness beginning to darken, mind fuzzy at the edges. Rest, the siren call of sleep beckons to you, wraps its warm arms around your limp form.

“My lovely beast.” The low timbre of his voice is the final push into slumber. He sends you to rest with a chaste kiss to your shoulder.


End file.
